For the Holidays
by asilentmurder
Summary: "Dad, can we invite Derek to Christmas dinner?" The swig of beer the Sheriff had taken spurts out of his mouth and sprays forward. "What!" He swings his head around to stare at his son. "Derek? HALE?"


**This is posted on AO3 as a short series, but I threw it together so I could post it here too. Just a little something for the holiday season :)**

**Unbeta'd, forgive any errors.**

* * *

"Hey Scott," Stiles asks as they walk out of the school the last day before winter break, "d'ya think Derek has any plans for the Holidays?"

Scott turns to give Stiles a confused look. "What?"

"Y'know, because he doesn't really have family? Well, he's got Peter," a shiver runs through Stiles and he stops walking to shake it off. "God, that's a horrifying thought. The only family you've got left is the creepy reincarnated uncle who killed your sister for power."

"Stiles, focus." Scott snaps his fingers in front of Stiles' face and Stiles shoves at his hand.

"Rude."

"You were rambling."

Stiles scoffs, pulling out the keys to the Jeep. "I always ramble. That's my thing. _Lord, I was born a ramblin' man_." Scott just looks at Stiles like he's crazy when Stiles flails. "Oh God, I can't. You don't- never mind, get in the car."

When Stiles gets home, the Sheriff is seated on the couch with a beer watching Mythbusters. Stiles throws his bag on the floor by the door and plops down next to his dad. The Sheriff nudges his shoulder into Stiles.

"How was your last day of school for the year?"

Stiles falls back against the couch. "Dad, can we invite Derek to Christmas dinner?"

The swig of beer the Sheriff had taken spurts out of his mouth and sprays forward. "What?!" He swings his head around to stare at his son. "Derek? HALE?"

Stiles shrugs innocently. "I mean, he doesn't really have much of a family now, since Laura died earlier this year, and I was just thinking maybe he could use some company?" He scrunches his face up in a mixture of hope and fuck-this-was-a-stupid-idea. The Sheriff blinks and brings a hand up to his face. When he sighs, Stiles perks up.

"Son, I really hate it when your crazy ideas make sense." He drops his hand down to Stiles' knee. "You're a good friend. Call him up, tell him to be here by 4pm on Christmas Eve. If he wants to eat dinner, he'll have to help you make it."

Stiles gapes at his dad. "Seriously? You expect Derek to- okay, shutting up and calling!" He scrambles off the couch and darts up the stairs. "Thanks, dad, you're the best!" He calls down from the stairway.

The Sheriff just chuckles and drinks the rest of his beer in one gulp.

There are two whole chickens roasting in the oven already by the time Derek shows up on Christmas Eve. He's thirty minutes early, standing on the Stilinski's porch with a casserole dish in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. He lifts the dish when Stiles opens the door.

"This was my mom's favorite thing to make for Christmas. Peter and Erica made it."

Stiles says nothing, just accepts the lasagna held out to him and ignores the brusque tone to Derek's voice. He walks toward the kitchen, leaving the door open for Derek to follow. He senses Derek's presence a couple minutes later while he's checking the temperature of the birds in the oven. "I hope you like pie, because I swindled Miss Hoth next door into bringing over her rhubarb and her apple spice pies. They are so freaking good, man, it'll change your life." Stiles wipes off the thermometer after closing the oven door, then turns to Derek.

Derek stands motionless for a minute, and Stiles can practically see the thoughts running through the Alpha's mind. "I, um." Derek lifts the grocery bag in his hand, clearing his throat. "I brought over some ice cream for the pies, and I think Isaac threw in a can of whipped cream…" He trails off, not quite meeting Stiles' eyes.

Stiles grins, rolling his eyes as he walks over to Derek. "Perfect. Now help me clean the potatoes." He pushes Derek toward the sink, mentally pumping his fist in victory when Derek shrugs out of his leather jacket wordlessly and rolls up his sleeves to scrub the potatoes. Derek doesn't complain when Stiles asks him to cut the onions and carrots either, so Stiles figures Derek must be in a decent mood for the holiday. And really, that's all Stiles wanted.

Little did he know that he would get so much more than that.

* * *

"No way. No WAY. Dude, are you serious? You ACTUALLY invited Derek over for Christmas?!"

Stiles cringes, muffling the microphone on his phone as he excuses himself from the living room where Derek and his Dad are watching the football game. "Merry Christmas to you too, Scott." Stiles bites back, rolling his eyes when he hears Scott scoff.

"Stiles, what were you thinking!" Scott squeaks out. Stiles walks out to the porch and sits on the second step with a sigh.

"I told you I was going to last Friday when we left school." Stiles rolls his eyes again. He can practically hear Scott's eyes bugging out.

"No you definitely did not. I would have remembered."

"Scott, you started talking about Allison right after. I really don't think you would remember buddy." Silence fills the line. Stiles chuckles to himself, picking at his nail. "Don't worry, I still love you." He shifts to lean up against the railing and stretch his legs across the whole step.

He gets a huff from Scott in response. "Yeah, I love you too. But Derek? Really?"

A sudden flare of anger hits Stiles. "Yes, really. Scott, do you even realize what happened to Derek this past year? He buried his sister. Literally, buried her himself before us dipshits dug her up. He got framed for her murder. _By us_. Then he found out the solitary member of his family left was a murderous psychopath-"

"Yeah, bu-"

"-who not only turned you but also attacked Lydia, a friend of yours. As if that wasn't bad enough, he's got three miscreant betas, four if you count yourself, who definitely don't appreciate him enough and a born-again creepy uncle who he freaking killed once already. Give the man a break!" Stiles doesn't realize he's yelling until the Sheriff shouts at him to keep it down from the living room. "_Ah shit_, he probably heard all that. Great, now he's going to kill me because he thinks I pity him. This is entirely your fault, Scott."

"What! What did I do?" Scott sounds like a hurt puppy, obviously feeling stupid after Stiles' rant. "I didn't mean to make it seem like I didn't think Derek having company for Christmas was a bad idea, I meant-"

Derek opens the front door then, and Stiles stops listening to Scott. "I'm going to go, Derek just walked out. If you don't hear from me by midnight, call the cops."

"Stiles, your dad IS the cops." Scott manages to get out as Stiles moves to hang up the phone. He sets it down on the porch next to his elbow, awkwardly avoiding Derek's gaze. Derek comes to sit on the top step, leaning against the opposite railing. They're facing each other, but Derek is about ten inches higher in altitude, and that makes Stiles uncomfortable.

They say nothing at first, Stiles fiddling with the rubber case on his phone and Derek staring out at the street, always on the lookout for danger. When Stiles is about to cave and opens his mouth, Derek clears his throat softly. "Thank you."

Stiles blinks. "Um."

"You didn't have to do all this for me. Inviting me over. Defending me to Scott." Derek's voice is low, as if he doesn't like the words he's saying. Stiles swallows, rewetting his dry throat, and tries to explain exactly why he did have to do this for Derek.

"Look, I know we aren't friends," Stiles pauses when Derek's eyes jump up to meet his. His heart flips in his chest at the hurt hidden in the depths of Derek's eyes, "I mean, yeah, we are, but we aren't super close or anything." He rushes out, suddenly desperate to chase away the pain in Derek's life.

"That's my own fault. I don't let anyone in. I don't even remember how to."

Stiles just gapes at Derek for a few moments. "Okay, I had a point before, but what?! Dude, who are you and what have you done with stone-faced Derek Hale, alpha extraordinaire?"

"I'm not that guy, Stiles. Not deep down. Before- before I lost my family, I was carefree and happy and trusting just like you guys. But once you've been burned," Stiles cringes when Derek says that, "it's hard to trust again."

"That's understandable, dude. I know we all give you a hard time, but we- well, shit. I'm just going to speak for myself, because your asshole betas don't really deserve to be included in this. I respect you, man- I do. I understand loss, and I know that it isn't something you really ever get over. So fuck them."

Derek glances back up. "What?"

"You heard me. _Fuck them._ Who cares? You don't owe anyone anything. Okay, well, you kinda owe the betas since they're the reason you're as strong as you are, but even then, you don't need to be something you're not. We care about you Derek, we need you. I think we'd all be willing to wait if you wanted to try to let people in again." Stiles blows out a breath after he finishes, letting his head fall back against the railing.

"I could try." There's a small hopeful smile playing at one corner of Derek's mouth. Stiles stares at it until his own mouth breaks into a grin.

"Good. Because I'm taking you to Lydia's New Year's party next week." Stiles says firmly. Derek's expression drops in surprise. "It'll be fun. We need to show the betas that you aren't really the stoic dickbag you act like you are."

Derek rolls his eyes. "There's no getting out of this- you're going to pester me until I go, aren't you?"

Stiles grins widely again. "Absolutely."

"I changed my mind, I hate you." Derek deadpans.

"No one can hate Stiles Stilinski." He moves to stand up, swatting Derek's knee. "Come on, we still have more pie."

* * *

The day before Lydia's party, Scott asks Stiles for a ride to the mall. "My mom has the car. Lydia said if we don't dress in all black, she's going to eviscerate us. I need a black dress shirt. I don't want to be eviscerated, man!" Stiles groans about it, but grabs his keys and picks Scott up.

They're in Macy's by the time Scott brings up Derek.

"Allison told me you're bringing Derek to the party tomorrow." Scott drops casually as he rifles through the button-downs. "What's that about?"

Stiles picks up a puke-green packaged shirt and chucks it at Scott's head. "What's it about? It's about everyone being a little nicer to Derek. He hasn't had the best life, and I don't think he ever expected to be the alpha of a pack of idiot teenagers. Go easy on him."

Scott furrows his brow. "What? No, Stiles, that's not what I meant."

"Whatever, just try to be a little more understanding, okay?" The conversation is starting to make Stiles angry.

Scott clicks his teeth. "You know, I've been trying to be helpful and you keep brushing me off. You did it on Christmas when you hung up on me."

"No. I hung up on you because you were being melodramatic and wrong." Stiles waves a hand to emphasize his point.

"Stiles."

"You were! You said 'what were you thinking, Stiles?' and-"

"Because I thought you were making a move on him!" Scott suddenly shouts, causing the man at the check-out counter to glare at them. Stiles rounds on Scott, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock before his face distorts again.

"WHAT!"

Scott ducks his head sheepishly. "Well, I know you've got a thing for Derek-"

"A _THING_?" Stiles asks incredulously. Scott seems to blush.

"Yeah, man, your scent always changes around him. It's subtle, but I've known you for years and it's the same way your scent changes- well, used to change around Lydia."

Stiles just stares at his best friend. Scott toes at the ground, waiting for Stiles to say something. "Oh." Stiles says quietly, as if he just processed the information himself. "Oh, _shit_." He runs his hand over his head in disbelief.

Scott takes a step toward him. "Dude. Did I just break you?"

Stiles' hand flies out and clutches Scott's shirt. Stiles turns his face to Scott, frantic. "Oh God, do you think he knows? Does he think tomorrow is a date?!"

Scott folds his hands over the one Stiles has twisted in his t-shirt. "Stiles, relax. I don't think anyone but me noticed. I'm your best friend, I'm supposed to notice these things."

Stiles releases his grip, patting Scott's chest in relief. "Oh, good. Good looking out for me buddy." He turns, heading toward the abandoned shirt rack. "You're a much better friend than I give you credit for. So should I wear pinstripes? I need to look good. I'm going to flirt with Derek."

Scott shakes his head and watches Stiles pluck an entire handful of hangers off the rack. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. "Wait, what do you mean, 'than you give me credit for'? Stiles!" He takes off after Stiles as he walks toward the dressing room.

* * *

Derek actually comes to the door like a normal person when he picks up Stiles the next night. The Sheriff is on his way out to start his usual 'people are forever reckless during New Years' shift when Derek rings the doorbell.

"Ah, Derek, come on in. Stiles just got out of the shower, I think. He should be ready soon. Are you driving? I have beer in the fridge if you're not." The Sheriff sits on the couch to pull on his work boots. Derek sits down on the opposite end of the couch.

"No thank you, Sheriff, I'll be driving tonight."

The Sheriff nods, lacing up his boot. "Alright. You look after those kids. I know what goes on at those parties. I worry about my boy sometimes."

"You shouldn't. Of his friends, he's got the best head on his shoulders. You raised him well." Derek tells him supportively. The Sheriff glances over at him.

"Are we talking about MY son? The one who accused you of murder and stole a police van not six months ago?"

Derek hesitates. "I never said he was perfect, sir."

The Sheriff laughs, standing. "Derek, you're alright." He says as Stiles bounds down the stairs. "You boys have fun, and stay off the back roads. More people drive drunk this night than any other night of the year."

"Okay dad." Stiles gives him a hug.

"Derek, make sure Stiles keeps his dick out of anything he could impregnate tonight."

"DAD, JESUS CHRIST."

Derek is laughing quietly, and the Sheriff puts on his stern face. "I mean it. No grandbabies."

Stiles turns bright red. "Yeah, okay, got it. Can you please leave now?" The Sheriff smiles then waves as he walks out the door. Stiles turns to Derek to suggest they get moving, but Stiles takes in Derek's outfit and his heart flips. Derek is dressed in dark denim and a black button down under his leather jacket. The insides of the collar and cuffs are a deep red. He looks down at his own black-with-dark-red-pinstripes shirt and laughs. "Hey. We kind of match."

Derek glances at Stiles' shirt and then down at his own. "Isaac picked this out." Derek says, confused. "Something about Lydia and black?"

"'To match her soul' is the phrase Scott first used. How appropriate." Derek just nods. Stiles clears his throat. "So, shall we?"

They take the Camaro to Lydia's house, and when they arrive, the party is in full swing. Jackson answers the door with a smirk and Stiles flicks him in the nose as he walks in. Jackson snarls at him, but Derek points a finger in Jackson's face menacingly and the threat is gone. In the back of the house, the betas are standing in the kitchen talking to Scott and Allison, who both perk up when they see Stiles. Stiles grabs Derek's hand without thinking, dragging him over to the pack.

"Stiles, you look great!" Erica says as she presses herself against him a little too closely. There's a glint in her eye when she retreats. Stiles can still feel the shape of her boobs on his chest. He rubs at the spot absently.

"Thanks, so do you guys. Shit, everyone looks great."

It's true; all the party-goers are dressed in shades, the guys in black and the girls in white. When he finally sees Lydia, she's wearing a glittering silver dress and a large red rose in her hair.

"Derek, you clean up well." Lydia says when she approaches. "As do you Stiles."

"No one shines like you do, though." Stiles wraps her up in a hug. She giggles and Jackson is suddenly in the room.

"You're sweet. Dance with me, our last dance was cut short." She gives him no time to argue, dragging him out into the throng of dancing people in the living room. They dance for a handful of songs, Lydia's sharp peal of laughter cutting through the music every time Stiles trips over his own feet. Finally, Jackson comes over to curl around Lydia possessively and Stiles fights his way back to the kitchen. Erica and Isaac are talking off to the side of the room in hushed whispers, so Stiles grabs some punch and goes to find the others. He finds Allison and Scott making out by the pool; Boyd is flirting with the new girl from their physics class out on the patio. Stiles makes his way upstairs, looking for Derek.

He's out on the terrace over-looking the backyard with a drink in his hands when Stiles sees him. "Hey, there you are." He peers into the cup to see what looks like Coke but smells like alcohol. "Captain?"

Derek shakes his head. "Maker's Mark. I like the way it tastes."

Stiles scrunches his nose up. "Never figured you for a whisky guy. I can't drink that stuff, reminds me of my dad and that one time Scott and I stole his liquor and got sick when we were fourteen." He shudders at the memory. "Why aren't you downstairs enjoying the party?"

Derek turns to look down at the people scattered around the poolside. "I like it from here. I can watch without judgment."

Stiles walks up to stand next to him. They say nothing for a while, watching Stiles' classmates flirt and dance and socialize. Erica and Isaac come into view, creeping up on Boyd's flirting before Erica jumps toward the girl, scaring her while Isaac plops into Boyd's lap and plants a big wet kiss on his still-open mouth. Stiles sees the slight shake of Derek's shoulders out of the corner of his eye. He rounds on him.

"You're a terrible person, laughing at your beta like that."

It only makes Derek's restrained laugh bubble from his throat. "Oh, whatever, that was so typical of Isaac and Erica; I just can't imagine what Boyd's going to do."

They don't have to wait long- Boyd takes the opportunity to throw Isaac in the pool and chases after Erica when she darts toward the house. Stiles gives in to his own laughter, bumping his shoulder into Derek. Suddenly, a girl on the patio shouts, "It's 11:58! Turn on the TVs!" Everyone rushes in to crowd the living room.

"Do you want to go downstairs for the ball drop?" Stiles asks. Derek sighs, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Not particularly. You go."

Stiles doesn't move though, and Derek doesn't push it. They can hear the guests downstairs counting down: _**fourty-three, fourty-two**_

"This is weird. The holidays without Laura." Derek offers quietly, straightening and stepping backward. Stiles reels, processing the freely given information. He says nothing, reaching out to grab Derek's forearm and slide his hand down into Derek's grasp. Derek watches him, the chanting from downstairs drowned out by the sound of Stiles' pulse hammering in his ears. _**Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen**_

Stiles takes a step forward, crowding Derek's space, and Derek lets out a small warning noise but doesn't stop him when Stiles lifts his free hand to cradle Derek's face. _**Twelve, eleven, ten**_

"Stiles." It's a pointless protest, one spoken only for technicalities, because Derek has no intention of stopping him. _**Four, three, two**_

Derek's eyes slip closed when Stiles dips his head forward. _**One**_

Stiles' lips press against Derek's softly, shyly, with just a hint of a tremble. Before he can start to pull away, Derek parts his lips, tongue darting past to glide over Stiles' bottom lip and seek entrance. Stiles yields to him, hand slipping from Derek's jaw to the nape of his neck, and Derek finds his own free hand pressed into the small of Stiles' back. The kiss doesn't last much longer, both pulling apart slowly, lips rubbing against each other one last moment before they part. Derek drops his hand, opening his eyes to see Stiles looking at him with a warm expression.

"You'll never spend another holiday alone. You've got us now."

Derek doesn't say anything, just takes a second to steel himself against the prickle in the corners of his eyes and swallow the lump in his throat. When Stiles raises an eyebrow expectantly, Derek nods. "Okay." His voice is gruff with the emotion. He isn't alone. He has his pack.

Satisfied, Stiles lets go of Derek's neck but keeps his hand in Derek's grasp. He grins a little dopey smile. "You actually let me kiss you." Derek tries to glare, but Stiles just keeps grinning. "Dude, you totally could have stopped me."

"Maybe I didn't want to reject you on New Year's." Derek bites. Stiles pokes his chest.

"Liar. You just don't want to admit that you might be attracted to me."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I clearly didn't think this through. You're letting it get to your head."

"Oh, come on, Derek. _You think I'm gorrrrgeous, you want to kiss me, you want to huuug me, you want to loooove me_." Stiles singsongs it as he shifts closer to Derek. When Derek just furrows his brows, Stiles throws his hands up (including the one still attached to Derek's) in exasperation. "Seriously, does NO ONE in this town understand pop culture references?"

Derek is still looking at Stiles, confused, when Stiles lets out a strangled noise of frustration and launches at Derek, an aggressive tangle of limbs and warm lips. Derek is caught off-guard when Stiles retreats just as quickly.

"Sorry. You just looked really adorable all confused like that. Like now, oh God, stop that." Stiles pulls his hand from Derek's finally, bringing it up to rub at his own face. "Why. Why me. You are so attractive, it's stupid."

Derek chokes out a laugh. "I beg your pardon?"

Stiles drops his hands. "Will you just shut up and kiss me again? God, it's like you have no idea what you do to people."

"Stiles, wait, you're still only seventeen-"

"Until July."

"-and your dad is the Sheriff."

Stiles looks a little bit like a kicked puppy. "But-"

"We aren't doing anything else until you're eighteen."

Stiles huffs. "So unfair."

Derek takes a second to stare at Stiles. "Did you not hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, nothing else until I'm eighteen, _blah blah blah_." Stiles pantomimes talking with his hand.

"Exactly, **nothing** **else** until you're eighteen." Derek places heavy emphasis on the words and looks at Stiles expectantly until Stiles' face lights up.

"Oh. _OH_." Derek nods, a small smirk playing at his lips. Stiles rolls his eyes, but his face breaks out in a grin. "Oh, shut up and kiss me, idiot."


End file.
